


wise men say (only fools rush in.)

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Agent!johnny, Gen, Handholding, M/M, SPY AU BITCHES, author is TIRED please send help, captain!kun, flashback scenes, mentions of other nct members - Freeform, might mention violence idk, prettg soft for a spy fic ig, surprisingly not very horny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 05:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18986434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: or, alternatively: three times kun tells johnny, “i do.”





	wise men say (only fools rush in.)

(The first time Kun met Johnny, he stuffed his mouth with the barrel of a gun, wrapped his fingers around his neck and slammed him against the nearest flat surface, hard enough to make his skull rattle.

 

In his defense, though, Johnny, (known then as  _ the man _ in his mind,) really  _ did  _ look suspicious. No one in their right mind would be caught dead cramped in the corner of HQ in all black after 21:09PM on a Sunday night. That was essentially  _ asking  _ to get jumped. No one walked around that late unless they had a death wish. It didn’t help that he was hunched over suspiciously, the same way all the moles that often break into HQ do. Kun was already paranoid enough, with the constant whispers of  _ an insider  _ that spread like epidemic around them, and seeing the stranger lurking around his HQ was the last straw.

 

There was the sound of the gun cocking dangerously as soon as it was inside his mouth, the sound of his breath hitching when Kun squeezes his throat, hard enough for him to feel the pressure but not enough that he’d struggle too much. Almost on impulse, the man’s hand came up to wrap around Kun’s wrist, fingers ice cold and bruising. His eyes were the size of the full moon on the fourteenth of every lunar month and he looked genuinely scared.

 

For a moment, there was nothing but the muffled sound of him trying to say something around the mouth of the gun mingled with the sound of Kun’s harsh breathing, and then the light spilled from the open window and Kun noticed the blood on the floor.

 

Then shakily, like he was about to give in any moment, the man slowly reached into his pocket, (Kun’s hand tightening around his throat, just in case he tried something,) and he pulled out an identification card.

 

_ SUH, JOHNNY. UNIT 127. _

 

_ Well, I’ll be damned,  _ Kun thought, already imagining the ridiculous amount of paperwork this was going to entail, and pulls the gun out of his mouth. There’s the obscene string of saliva on his gun (that was going to be a pain to explain) and the sound of Johnny collapsing against the door as Kun stepped back, the hand around his throat going slack against his side.

 

“Hey,” Johnny, (then rewired from  _ the man _ to Agent Suh in Kun’s head,) started, once he was done inhaling all the air he’d missed out on inhaling because Kun tried to choke him. The cut on his split lip had opened and there were red droplets dripping down his chin. “ _ What the fuck was that _ ?”

 

And that, kids, is how Kun met the love of his life, though he hadn’t known it yet.)

 

__________________

 

“It’s the anniversary of the day you shoved a gun in my mouth and tried to strangle me,” is the first thing Johnny says to Kun, and as he does every year, he’s grinning as he does so.

 

Every year, it’s the same shit. Kun will oversleep, because no one wants to be awake on a day-off, and he’ll wake up because the bed was too cold and  _ somebody  _ (read: the idiot he wanted to marry and had accidentally sold his heart to) left the blankets strewn messily. Then he’ll stumble downstairs with narrowed eyes, usually glaring at the potted plant he bumps into, and find Johnny doing something or another, and like a clockwork, he’ll repeat that phrase. Last year, he was petting Sicheng’s cat on the couch, legs on the coffee table, wearing one of his disturbingly oversized red hoodies and smirking victoriously like the memory amuses him. The year before, he’d been removing a tranquilizer from his arm.

 

This year, he’s sitting on the kitchen counter, coffee mug in his hands while the murder board faces him. The speaker is playing WHAM’s Last Christmas though it’s summer. The sweater he’s wearing is the one Donghyuck got him last father’s day, teal and slightly too large on him with white letters on the front that spells out,  _ WORLD’S BEST DAD _ . (Taeil had also gotten an identical one. It was all very cute.) The sleeves are almost worn out from the constant wear, and there’s a chocolate stain on the left sleeve. His hair is mussed up and there’s still yesterday’s eyeliner on his left eye and his skin is still slightly on the pale side owing to the cold, but the light from the window makes his eyes shine and the way he smiles reminds Kun of blooming flowers. He’s still as beautiful as he was yesterday. 

 

“You do this every year,” Kun reminds him. Johnny smirks at that, a little cocky and a little childish, and shrugs.

 

“The look on your face is funny,” he says, as if that explains anything, and places the mug on the counter as he gets up. It’s nice, the way the sweater slips off his shoulder, giant clothes that dwarf his broad shoulders and his muscular arms.  _ He’s nice _ , Kun thinks, watching him extend his hand out. There’s a smile on his lips when he asks, “Wanna dance?”

 

It’s been a couple of distant years since he asked Johnny to be his in a chopper, voice shaking and breaking like the words may fracture itself in his throat if he held it in any longer, his bloodstained hands clutching onto Johnny’s as if he’d disappear if he let go. It’s been a couple of distant years since Johnny said yes, gunpowder on the collar of his shirt, blood that wasn’t his on his hands. 

 

And yet, everyday seems to bring something new. Today’s is dancing to Christmas music on a warm summer morning in front of a murder board.

 

“I do,” he hears himself say.

 

_ It’ll be easy _ , he thinks, taking Johnny’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled in until they’re standing only a hair’s breadth apart, close enough for Kun to notice how the honey brown of Johnny’s eyes melts into flecks of dusty gold; close enough for him to feel the thrum of Johnny’s heart against his chest,  _ it’ll be so easy to ask now _ .

 

Last Christmas changes to Santa Baby.

 

Johnny leaves a soft, barely-there kiss on his cheek, and Kun closes his eyes, leaning his head against Johnny and allowing his eyes to flutter shut. He sways with the music, Johnny’s arms around him like they’re the only home he’s ever known, and thinks he could stay like this forever, and then some more.

**Author's Note:**

> have u streamed take off and superhuman today


End file.
